A Fragmented Tale
by Ari Powwel
Summary: [one-shot] You think you know me? Or do you only know me as the Keyblade Wielder?


**Title:** A Fragmented Tale . . .  
**Author name:** Ari Powwel  
**Author email:** eight_muses@hotmail.com  
**Spoilers:** neift.  
**Summary: **You think you know me? Or do you only know me as the Keyblade Wielder?  
**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by various publishers including but not limited to Disney Interactive and Square Co., Ltd. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.   
**Author's Notes:** Fingers so . . . cold . . . **searches for gloves and can't find them**  
Anyways, this fic is strange. I swear, I felt possessed while writing it. I seriously can't even remember what I wrote, so perhaps it was just Sora ranting? ^_^  
Also written around 4:00 to 6:00 a.m.  
You could also call this a 'Sorry-the-latest-chapter-of-_Reflections: Kairi-_is-late' gift. The chapter is in progress, and I think it'll have you . . . a bit upset with the cliffy? Neift.  
Finally, I have the quotes from Deep Dive. All of them. If you'd like them, just email me.  
**Statistics: **  
Day began: 19 October, 2003  
Day completed: 19 October, 2003  
Words: 1,187  
Pages: 5  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_Utter silence . . ._

They say my life must be so easy. They say that being the Wielder is a great honour, one I should be proud of.

Well, sure. I'm proud that I am one to wield the sacred Keyblade. This honour is said to only come to few people. And this is why I wonder. I wonder why I was chosen to wield it. Why wasn't someone like . . . Leon? Why wasn't someone like Leon given the Keyblade? He was much more powerful than I; this much was evident in our first meeting. Leon could have saved the worlds, too, and he seemed to handle the stress so much better than I could. 

But, I know that he only went by Leon because he was ashamed that he couldn't save his world. 

_Something so natural . . ._

They say it's something so natural, that fighting is 'a talent' I was born with. How is this? I ask. How can you be born with the natural ability to fight?

They say it's something so simple, to fight for the good of others. But what happens when you don't want to get up in the mornings; when you think that anything would be better than having to face the world again? What happens when you know that one friend is miserable, and the other could be dying as you step forward, and you can't do anything about it. How can you cope? 

_Something so simple . . ._

It's human nature to be selfish at times, to want to do something for yourself. But no, I can't do that. I can't take the time for myself to have fun, to run around, to challenge my old friends to duels. I can't sleep through the day, I can't run around in the dark of night, staring at the stars or playing in the tide.

_A world without you . . ._

I miss them. I miss Kairi and Riku and Tidus and Wakka and Selphie and Yuffie and Aerith and Leon (who has gone back to using the name Squall) and Cid and Huey and Dewey and Louie and Alice and Hercules and Philoctetes and Tarzan and Jane and Aladdin and Jasmine and Genie and Ariel and Flounder and Sebastian and Jack and Sally and the mayor and Zero and Peter Pan and Wendy and the Beast and Belle and Aurora and Snow White and Cinderella and everyone else I met on my ventures.

I miss them.

_The memory beyond . . ._

I miss fighting under the hot, bright sun of the islands. Fighting Selphie, Wakka, and Tidus, cheering when I won, and scowling when I lost, only to re-challenge them a moment later. I miss the lazy days of the isle, lying in the warm sand with Kairi and Riku, the tide slowly creeping up on our bodies. Laughing when I missed a joke, or when I didn't catch something until a moment after it had been said. Snickering at the rare times when Kairi would make Riku blush, or when Riku would stumble over his words or a thought. I miss building things like the new roof for the old shack, or the not-quite-sturdy ladder that led to Riku's Paopu. I miss teasing Riku about his precious paopu tree, and the name we gave to the small island.

I miss it.

_The eyes will close . . ._

And now I stand at these crossroads, trying to decide where to go next. I have to decide, do I give up this life and all it's troubles, go back to the simplicities of Destiny Island, and know that Riku and King Mickey are still waiting for me in Kingdom Hearts? Or do I keep on, always searching, always watching for a sign to the door to the light?

_'Where's Sora?'_

I hear this and realise that I am in another of those prophetic dreams, like the one I had three nights before our world was originally destroyed. I know that whatever choice I am to make will affect our journey from here on.

_'We _must_ find him.'_

I wonder at the concern in the voice. Are they looking for me because they're worried about _me?_ Or are they only worried for the Keyblade Master?

I don't know what they think they know about me. They're not sure of anything. How do they know that I haven't been putting on a façade every day, waking up and putting on a false mask of cheeriness to soothe their fears?

All these people are so sure they know the real me, but they don't know the half of it.

They say there will be books published in some worlds, about what's happened with the Keyblade. I don't want that. If this happens, the writers may mention Riku. And if they do that, they'll probably include what happened at Hollow Bastion, and I don't want that. Riku is a good person. There is not a doubt in my mind about this. But . . . writers always blow everything out of proportion. They'll insist he secretly hates me or something. Anything to sell. 

And then, once the books are out, if people like it enough and believe it as fiction, they'll write their own stories of it. Ha.

Once _this_ happens, I'll be able to look at stories and say to myself, 'When did that happen? I don't recall that . . .' 

I'll be able to look at stories and find people diving into their version of my psyche, thinking that yes, they know what I'm thinking. But they don't. Not really. It's not _possible_ for them to know, unless they've experienced it, which I doubt, or if I've told them the feeling firsthand. 

So who are they to say that it's my opinion?

No-one, that's who.

In addition to all of this, I still have to deal with deciding what to kill, and what not to kill. Call it destroying if you wish, but I'm still cutting of the life of something short. Sure, it's a Heartless, but it's also a heart, be it stolen or not. 

Who am I to decide this? To decide that this heart should die? You may laugh, say 'Sure. Like it's not dead already, being a Heartless', but how do you know? How do you know if the heart's dead? Perhaps it is watching life through the eyes of a Heartless?

I stand at the crossroads, making my decision, trying to decide. This way, or that way. I take a breath, and plunge through the middle of the two, wanting to combine the best of both worlds. I doubt it will work, but I prefer to create my own path this time, not to follow some template that has been provided for me.

_I'm coming, Kairi . . . I'm coming, Riku . . ._

. . . something so unique . . .

. . . something so strange . . .

. . . something so unexpected . . .


End file.
